Begegnung
by adrenalynn1986
Summary: Meeting the person you desperatly want to talk to, can leave you speechless. All human. Not light and fluffy.
1. Chapter 1

_**So this was supposed to be a one shot when I started it and turned out to be a bit longer, so I decided to divide it into three parts.**_

 _ **I was listening to a song that day. Two people meet in a bus and aren't able to talk to one another.**_

 _ **This is my way to tell the story and I hope you like it.**_

 _ **I am not used to write in present tense or in first-person perspective, hope it's any good.**_

 _ **Thanks EmCelle for helping me out here ;) (and every other story)**_

 _ **I don't own Lost Girl or any character.**_

 _ _Begegnung part 1__

 _ **Lauren POV**_

The double doors open. People are streaming out like a swarm of honey bees on their mission to collect pollen for their queen. I wait patiently for the rush to pass. Some of them don't seem to notice me standing on the left side of the bus. Shoulders crash into my right side. Bags almost slap into my face. With the years you get used of being ignored. At least that's what I say to myself, but who am I trying to fool? It still stings every single time.

I clutch my book and spiral-bounded notepad to my chest, ducking my head. I've learned to make myself invisible for others, to get out of their way.

The sun is shining and it is a beautiful day in early summer. I love to go out to study at the park a short bus drive down the alley I live in. My bronze colored, mirror glassed sunglasses fit perfectly to my white blouse and those dark blue worn out jeans. I love those pants. They hang a bit more loose around the waist since the start of the semester. I sometimes forgot to eat and instead consumed too much of those Thai Latte. I could kill for one of Johnny's Tea House specials.

The bus is nearly empty when I finally have the chance to step inside. One of the benefits of living four stops from the terminus. I place the student ticket at the control panel. A green check-mark blinks almost immediately. I look around shortly like I always do. Scanning the small sitting area to my right. Mostly old women are seated in the front near the drivers cabin. A few younger teens, around fourteen I guess, are laughing loudly at the back.

"Cool kids sit in the back," I once heard my nephew saying.

He's turning four this fall and he surely is the coolest boy in town with his cowboy hat which he refuses to take off, only for getting into bed.

 _"Aunty, Cowboys don't sleep with their hats on", he said, rolling his eyes. "If you don't know that, you should watch more Lucky Luke!"_

I had a hard time convincing him, that the water from the shower would ruin the brown leather strap bound around it when my sister finally allowed me to take him for a sleep over at my place. But eventually he agreed and stepped into the spray, laughing because the water drops tickled his small back.

I adore him. He overflows with vitality. Laughing all day long, fooling around, even enjoying the little things. I feel all kinds of wonderful and free and just like I could do almost anything when I'm with him. He breaks through my calculated mind.

My gaze drops on the two empty seats behind the secure glass near the exit to my left. I rush over and sit down next to the window laying my book and notepad on my lap. My sunglasses color the world around me in calming sepia. It feels like I'm looking at old photographs. A warm touch of orange and brown. Like those in the photo album my mum used to show off when my whole family came home to visit on Christmas Eve.

The only time all of us find our way back to the place everything started. My mum lives in England, alone after my dad died in spring eight years ago. My dad had always wanted us to do what our hearts desired and he had done everything in his power to make that possible.

His death broke something inside of me that I'm yet to fix. The doctors thought the pain he had suffered from was some kind of rheumatism. They started endless tests and prescribed a lot of medication until one day, a young intern examined his blood again. She had a hypothesis we all hoped wouldn't turn out to be true.

A week later it was clear. Diagnoses plasmacytome. They started a new treatment. Chemotherapy, radiotherapy. In the end he lost the battle against a much stronger enemy. He died at home in his bed one night around two o'clock. Just like he had wished for, with his beloved family around. I saw him taking his last breath. He died with a smile. The war was over. The pain was gone.

Shortly after the funeral we received our certification of matriculation for the university of Toronto.

Me and my sister moved to Canada that year to study and try to build a new life away from the world we grew up in. We didn't plan it that way, it just happened.

My sister is two years older than me. She found her luck in a businessman called Naresh. He and his family moved from India to Canada when he was five. She hated the life of a student and when she got pregnant about three years after they started dating, she cried happy tears. Naresh, my sister could now call her husband, earns more than enough money to buy his small family a house in the suburb.

My sister has always been the lazy type. Some people even asked my mother if we were related at all. She is the exact opposite of me. At least in character. I've always been the straight forward one. The one who worked hard to get fulfill my dreams. I still am. My sister never did much for anything. Most of the things she wanted just came by. Some call it luck. I call it cleverness. She knows just which strings to pull.

But she is a great mum. She loves her child, my nephew. Family means everything to her and I worship her loyalty. She has been on my side, always. Protected me during my childhood. I couldn't have wished for a better big sister.

"You know, you can visit at any time. Just give us a call," I still remember her telling me that she'd move to the other part of the town. Leaving me all alone.

It felt like loosing my anchor.

My younger brother always talked about traveling the world and seeing all those places no one ever had been. Since middle school he saved money and three years after my sister and I had left home he did, too.

He became a writer of adventure travel books. My little Hans stare-in-the-air. My daydreamer. Everything he did as a kid, he did with so much passion and devotion. Sometimes I see him in my nephew's eyes. He told me to listen more closely to what my heart was telling me. Warning me, that I would lose myself inside my head if I didn't stop overthinking, rationalize or streamline everything.

He is the kind and warmhearted part of our family. Watching out for us although he is the youngest member of our clan. He felt responsible to take our father's place, holding the bunch together.

Now I can see his face every time I go to that small bookshop around the corner of the campus I love to get lost in so much. His light brown eyes are smiling back at me from a cover in the holiday-section. I am not allowed to buy one of those books, because he wants to tell me his stories in person and present all his photographs.

"You need to know the story behind it, so you get all those feelings." His voice sounded so excited when he had called me that night before we met again a few years back. His first book had been released that day.

I am so proud of my little 'Mustachio'. He hates that nickname, but that fluffy bush beneath his nose he had cultured in Turkey on his second trip, needs, almost _screams_ to be celebrated. He looks just like Mr. Hardner, my second grade English teacher.

Gross.

We never ever made it to the photograph part, because he had so many anecdotes to tell on each and every Christmas Eve that, after the first and then the second bottle of red wine had been finished, together with some shots of various booze he had collected on his trips, we could hardly form coherent words anymore much less whole sentences.

That's way I love Christmas now more than ever.

The bus drives off, leaving waving people running towards its doors behind. They would have to take the next one. I'll never understand the policy of bus drivers. There has to be some kind of codex. Never open the door again once it's shut. I myself was standing in front of closed doors more times than I can count, my finger on the button pushing eagerly just to see the giant vehicle rolling off without me.

My eyes are flying over the scenery outside. It is around eleven thirty and some passersby are surely searching for a place to eat their lunch. Cafes and bars pullulate along the street. A few shops and some apartment houses loosen the crowed places where people meet other people. Hugging, shaking hands. Business or casual looking. I am not much for company though. At least not with some strangers.

"You cannot make friends, if you don't meet new people, Lauren." My mum just wanted me to be happy, when she pushed me inside that room full of children, when I was around five.

"Mum, I don't need friends, I have you and Sam and Tom and Dad." I tried desperately to keep my hold on her wrist. My small fingers slipping from her freshly lotioned palm.

"Your sister and brother aren't friends, they're family and Dad and me don't count as well. You need to find some kids your age. To talk to, to play with, to have some fun." She shoved me deeper into the ocean of eyes staring back at me like I was their prey.

"But kids my age are boring. They just talk about puppets and Lego and they play silly games. Mum I hate Twister. Please don't make me play Twister. Please don't leave me here." I can still feel the fear when my younger self had finally realized that Mum was long gone and I was surrounded by all those groping, sticky hands and those jarring, loud voices of little devils crawling along the floor. Encircling me.

I let my mind drift off. Thoughts are running through my head. Coming and going as they please. I don't mind them at all. They are my silent companion. The good and the bad ones. Though for today, I have decided to give the good ones room to blossom and the bad to not bother my happiness. It is a far too warm and beautiful a day to be ruined by cold reality.

A reality in which my twenty seven year old self is left alone in a small single apartment with some very sad and mostly dying plants. My green thumb never had the chance to show off its qualities. Or it already does and I am just a bad gardener.

The bus is directing to the next stop sign and comes to a halt. Only one old man with a wheeled walker is waiting to be picked up. When the doors open, he struggles to get inside. His hands are shaking when he tries to maneuver the heavy walker aid onto the higher floor in front of him. Of course he didn't push the right button. The one that would let the hydraulic pump bring down the only stair to climb to get inside on eye level with the concrete.

I place my stuff next to me on the dirty surface of the seat and stand up. Climbing out next to the man, he must be around seventy, I grab him by his arm to steady his position. My parents taught me manners.

"Oh, thank you, Miss. I couldn't have made it on my own."

His voice is higher than I would have thought and very husky. I just nod and smile shyly. Me and my social skills. I am not very proud of the lack of interpersonal communication. That's why I love my sunglasses. They hide the insecurity in my eyes.

The man sits down on one of the seats in the disable-friendly area opposite the door, placing his rolling helper in front of him, adjusting the breaks. His light blue eyes look up at me and with a toothless smile he waves a "Thank you, Miss." when I find my place by the window again.

I feel uneasy. I could only hope that I would get more comfortable in accepting compliments or that I would learn how to use my mouth to form words while helping foreigners. Especially because of the career I'm into. A doctor should be able to talk to their patients or at least look them in the eye, right?

I look down at my book, fiddling with the binder. My face must show all shades of red. God, I hate it. The choice to leave my blonde long hair open, had been a very good one after all. Another option to mask my feelings.

The bus moves on again with a loud puff of air escaping the tired break-system. While my eyes find their way to look back outside the window, I silently hope for my special place to be free of any human being. I searched for that kind of loneliness for quite some time now. Hard to find some peace and quiet in my part of the city, where most of the inhabitants are students like me.

But that bench at the end of the park, embedded between bushes and trees, next to a statue of a woman in all her naked beauty, I could allow to relax myself and concentrate on the words I have to get my mind wrapped around.

Maybe I shouldn't practice as a doctor but go into research. I am a fast learner and my combination skills are over the top. Not that I think of myself to be better or more special than others, but I could easily catch up and that I know as a fact.

A big pothole lets the tire of the bus crash down hard and my book and notepad I pawed mindlessly, are slipping off of my lap, along the hallway, to find an halt in front of the doors.

"Dammit," I whisper before I hurriedly make my way towards the exit. The next bus stop isn't far and I have to get my stuff before some heedless feet stomp upon it.

When I kneel down to get my book off the floor with one hand and crawl a few inches forward to do the same with my notepad, another heavy eruption makes me loose my fragile balance. I am crouching on all fours now when the bus stops and the doors open with a hiss. Just in time for the first passenger to step in, my sunglasses had slipped from my nose to land directly underneath a large man's shoe, must be at least size eleven or even twelve.

Holding my right hand in the air, with my notepad in a tight grip my face must look like that of a kid who has just been told hat their dog had run away. I have to admit, it feels a bit like loosing that beloved dog. Those were my favorite sunglasses. The worst part, they were my only pair as well.

Several people just rush past without looking down or offering to help stand up. The only hand I see and feel laying on my shoulder, is the one of that older man with his wheeled walker when I turn my head his way. He smiles sadly back at me. I force myself to return that smile while I had managed to stand up. I don't meet his eyes for much longer than milliseconds and nod again, politely. Looking back where my broken sunglasses, my shield, my mask had been trampled underfoot, are spread all across the entrance zone by now.

Okay, this day has just turned from awesome to- not that awesome anymore. At least my place by the window is still free for me to return to. I feel a sigh building in my chest when I sit back down. When I am about to take a breath to release a bit of the growing tension in my upper body, I watch as a feminine hand with neatly manicured nails slips through the gummy of those glass doors before they could shut completely.

The sensor forced them to open up again and my eyes are scanning over that hand, along a well defined forearm up to an even more toned upper arm covered half way in a light blue silk blouse hitched up . My ogling gaze drops upon a delicate glimpse of a collarbone, almost hidden under that shimmering fabric.

The world around me stops in track. I feel myself loosing the ability of my mind to command my body to do anything but stare. Forgotten is that sigh tightening my throat, or that I would need to inhale oxygen soon or _die_.

The sudden sound of the bus doors and that peeping to step back makes me crash back from the clouds I find myself in. My brain is pumping signals through my limbs, telling my lungs to start working again. My heart rate beat's around one hundred twenty per minute and the cover of the book earned some waves around the edges because of my sweaty palms that are holding on too tightly.

'Okay, Lauren, you just saw a hand, an arm- which is a really beautiful arm...' I shake my head slightly, closing my eyes for a second. 'Get your shit together,' I think.

When I open my eyes again, looking up through the secure glass in front of me, I am met by a pair of the most gorgeous brown orbs I have ever seen, that I could tell without a doubt. They are staring back at me and I feel attached to their shine. As if they are smiling brightly just for me. I have never looked into such pureness. No fog or curtains to walk through, I could easily enter and get embraced by their warmth. Maybe people were right when they said, the eyes are the window to one's soul. There is this natural pull to get lost in them.

"Wow."

I swear I can feel it. Right there. With just one look. Although I have never seen that woman before. I can't take my eyes off of her. My body responds in a way it hasn't in a long time now. I've almost forgotten all about those emotions. The prickling in my belly. The tension in my throat loosening and twisting into that dry sand-land. Every swallow of none existing saliva is like rubbing one's skin against emery paper.

I don't even notice that the bus is driving again or that the woman moved from the spot at the doors right next to where I am seated.

I blink several times. With her standing next to me, all my insecurities are coming back full force. My face burns and I'm more than sure that my cheekbones are blazing with embarrassment. My eyes roam along her form. Her hair, her upper body, her legs. It only takes a few seconds, but I can't help it. My finger nails are the last stop of my unintended journey. As soon as my head turns and my chin almost smashes against my chest, my hair is shielding my face immediately.

"Hi, is this seat taken?"

That voice. Melodic and soft, that I could have overheard it by the loud noises of the wheels on the street and the creaking on the inside. 'Gosh, please talk to me again', was all my mind could gather. But as some kind of routine when anyone directs their attention my way, I just nod and wave my hand invitingly.

She sits down. Right next to me. So close but yet so far. I sneak a peek to my left. Her deep brown hair falls freely over her shoulders. A few strands are tied back on the top. I couldn't see much more though. I wouldn't want her to think of me as some awkward weirdo staring at her.

The secure window in front of me, reflects the both of us like a mirror. The picture is a bit palish but it's enough to admire the beauty next to me without the fear of getting caught. Her silk blouse fits perfectly. It hugs her every curve. She's sitting upright. Hands on her lap, holding some kind of suitcase. A black leather suitcase. Laying across her left arm, there is a blazer. Dark blue or black. Can't tell for sure.

I look back down. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable. A scent fills my head. Her scent. It's a mix out of the ink of a printer, pineapple shampoo and that strawberry body lotion I couldn't get enough of when ever I went to that drugstore in town.

I used to sniff on it every time but always chose the boring home brand. It was cheaper and as much as I love that smell of freshly cut fruits on my skin, I have to save money. Living alone and being a student, well, there was always a lot of month left when the money was all gone.

'Just say 'hi'', I could, but now it seems more strange than anything else. The small time frame to start small talk or introduce oneself is short and I missed it seconds ago.

Playing with the rings on the side of my notepad, my mind creates a short movie about the what-could-have-been's.

 _"Hi, is this seat taken?"_

 _"Well, gorgeous, now I'd say it is."_

I could never have said something like that. But I would have loved to hear her voice again.

'Just say anything. Try a -nice blouse- or -oh wow, what body lotion do you use-.' God, no. Just _thinking_ of those sentences sounds creepy enough.

With my head hanging down and my hair as my safety curtain in front of my face, my eyes are dancing freely from notepad, to her hand, to my book cover, across the outline of her right thigh, her knee, back to my fumbling hands.

I am nervous. Very nervous and I can't remember being as antsy as I am now. Maybe when I was in high school and that girl in the back I adored for months had finally noticed me. But that feeling had been replaced shortly when she had only asked for me to step aside, because I was filling up the entire space and she couldn't move to her favorite place in the last row.

Even back then I hadn't said anything. Just that nodding with a shy smile on my lips. What would have happened if I had found the courage to say those words? Like -hi- or -can I buy you lunch- or something like that.

Small talk. I have never found anything more complicated. How could anyone get from the sunny weather to a candle light dinner for two. Is a candle lit dinner even still worthy to be called a date?

My curiosity wins over my anxiety of getting caught and I just feel the need to look back up and into that mirror converted secure glass. I stare at myself. My tensed sitting position. My flushed face. My fidgeting right leg bouncing up and down.

'This is ridiculous.' I know that, but I can't help it. My gaze is gliding along the plain surface. Slowly finding it's destination upon the smooth skin of her chin up to those luxurious, slightly pink lip-glossed lips. My heart is racing wildly by now. I can hear it in my ears. My blood boiling inside my veins. Rushing through my system. I feel the temperature rising inside my whole body. Burning like an inferno.

Her cheekbones are colored light red. I can't say whether it is rouge or the warmth of running for the bus earlier covering that perfect space between her nose and her ears. All I know is,that she looks sexy as hell.

Discovering every inch of her face I've finally made my way up to her eyes. She is looking down. God, I wish I could loose myself again in their welcoming depth.

'Look at me.' Now I am talking to her inside my head. Pleading words she would never hear as long as I keep my mouth shut. 'Dammit, Lewis, say hi. You can do it. She's the most beautiful human being you've ever seen. Don't make such a fuss! If not now, when?'

Closing my eyes I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts or at least what's left of them, adjusting my sitting position to find a more confident pose.

'Hi. Hello. Hey.' There are a bunch of greetings I could use to start a conversation. I could even ask her questions. 'You know what time it is? You know how many stops are left until terminus? Can I hold your hand for the rest of the ride?' Oh boy, this would end in a catastrophe.

'Maybe first things first and I'll go with a simple -Hello I'm Lauren- and see where this leads us to.'

I open my eyes after my inner monologue comes to an end and my confused balance of body mind and soul equilibrates again, just to find those astonishing orbs staring back at me through the mirroring glass.

Caught up in her gaze I feel unable to move, to breath, to _think_. My mouth slightly is open, that I can feel. The words I collected with blood, sweat and tears, mustered up on the tip of my tongue ready to burst out for her to hear, have dried out with the last bit of saliva there had been left.

How could it be possible for those thousands of thoughts to fly around in my head and not being able to be collected and formed into words. And words into sentences and sentences into something that makes more sense than sitting here and staring at that gorgeous woman possibly getting the thrills because of my ogling eyes?

I am such a chicken.

 **Okay, first part done. What do you think?**


	2. Chapter 2

**This is the second part. For those wondering if there'll be a POV of Bo? Yes! This one. Thanks for the awesome comments. Hope you like that one.**

 **Thanks for reading, biiig thanks to EmCelle and well, I still don't own Lost Girl or the characters.**

 **BO'S POV**

Stepping out of the revolving glass door into the bright light of the midday sun, I have to squeeze my eyes into tight slits. A slight burn behind my forehead makes me stop in my tracks and my arm reaches up to automatically shield my eyes from the sun.

"Dammit!"

I knew that I would have need my sunglasses when I left my office. But I didn't have to think twice whether or not to get them. My decision was set in tablets of stone from the very beginning, knowing that I had to walk past my boss all over again, who was hovering over his next lunch-bunny. Elena, of Mr. Flinch's -from the appeal division office- secretary.

'No thanks' is all I was thinking.

It is warm. Warmer than I thought it would get when I headed to work this morning. When I woke up at four it had been rather cold so I chose to wear one of my suits. The black one. Not my favorite, but it fits perfectly and the weather guy on channel seven _promised_ , that the day would get warmer. In that case this suit wouldn't heat up as much as those others I have stocked away in my closet.

My eyes become accustomed to the natural brightness with every step I take. All I've been thinking of for the last couple of hours has been reading that new book I bought online. It arrived just yesterday with my mail. That, and a little more peace and a bit less of Miss Dennis this and Miss Dennis that.

The forty five minutes break would be over faster than I'd like it to be, so I have to hurry to get to that place I know no one was going to interrupt me with stupid question about what number to dial or how to hit on the new girl from the service staff, 'cause as a woman myself, I was accused to be the best source of knowledge of 'how to woo correctly'.

The warmth of the sunbeams feels good on my face. I love the early summer. When the days grow longer and the nights hold that mild temperature. Less cold and pleasant enough to sit on my small balcony of my small single apartment. A glass of cheap wine in hand, I would hate myself the next day for it, wrapped in a blanket, watching the sunset and waiting for the stars to pop out of the darkened sky.

I used to sit on the porch of my father's house. The stars got me hooked since I was little. When my place in the world seemed too hard to stand at times, I got lost in my dreams of the depth of the outer space. The constellations never changed. They are fixed on the firmament. Just the location circled with the earth moving around the sun. Sometimes I fell asleep while counting them and woke up to the birds chirping.

Walking across the parking lot of the skyscraper I work in, I take off my blazer. Never once stopping or slowing down. My suitcase switches from my left to my right hand and back again until my jacket joins the leather bag under my left arm. Warm wind blows along my now exposed forearms as I managed to pull my blouse up to my elbows.

"Hey Bo!"

'God no, please.'

A male voice yells at me from behind and I know who the owner is without turning around.

"Bo, hey, Bo!"

I walk on.

'I can't hear you, you're not there!'

A hand lands on my right shoulder, stopping me. I wish I had chosen the other direction. The one which wouldn't make me run into Don. Don is one of the junior partners of the air-condition company from the building next to my office.

He has been eyeing me since forever and I was too polite at that time to tell him to get lost. I am used to ogling eyes and drooling mouths. I do have that effect on people. Mostly men. Although I usually prefer the so called weaker sex.

A strong pull forced me to swirl around and face that break-disturber. His blue eyes land on my cleavage.

'Memo to myself, bottom up!'

Don is a rather short man. Almost my height but his body stopped to grow further when he must have turned twelve and so I am a few inches taller. My chest is on direct eye level so I cannot really blame him for staring.

"Don, hey, uhm- I don't have much time, I-"

My thumb points in the direction of the bus stop. Finally he meets my gaze. His blue eyes looking hopefully into my brown ones.

"Can I join you?"

"God no!"

He blinks.

"I mean- sorry, no, I already have a place to be and a someone to meet so... Some other time maybe."

I free myself from the hand still laying on my shoulder. The smaller man adjusts his tie, clearing his throat. His chest pushes forward. He has a muscular body. Surely putting a lot of effort in pumping them up. He has to compensate his lack of height somehow I guess.

Looking at his disappointed features I almost feel guilty for declining. Almost. I am through with dating under false suppositions. I've been dragged to meet up with boys my age in high school.

"Ysabeau, this is Jeff. He is the son of the Millers from down the street."

My stepmother, Jill, thought it would be a good idea to introduce me to the sons or younger cousins or brothers or whatevers of the women of her book club or tennis club or whichever club she had joined recently. Most of them had been either to shy and girl-phobish or too fast forward and grope-y. I have goosebumps all over my body only thinking back at those times.

"Oh, yes, ok. Then- I'll see you around."

I nod and smile at him.

"Yes, Don. So- uh, I gotta go."

I see the red lights of the brakes of the bus I intended to catch. Only a few feet away, I have to run to make it before it drives off again. Running in my stilettos, it is a miracle that I don't fall down by now. Simply walking in those things some called shoes is a science of its own. I never thought I would ever wear high heels. For as long as I could remember I hated them. The sound they make on the concrete not to mention a hallway. Annoying. And here I am in a pair of clicking spike heels.

If this bus drove off without me, it would have been the perfect match to the rest of my glorious morning. My boss had one of those days. He never stopped joking and his habit of come as close to me as he could, left me in a cold shiver, and not in a good way. If herpes had ever been growing on my lips, it would have happened today. Thank the holly mighty that I haven't suffered from those little blisters ever before.

He is a tall man with an athletic body. Most of the women around him behave like Robbie Williams fans on a concert, first row. His hair holds too much styling gel and he literally bathes in after shave. And his charm, well, for those who don't have some kind of self-preservative instinct or pharyngeal reflex, he must have quite an effect.

As his secretary, I am seated right in front of his bureau. Writing his schedule of appointments, receiving calls and checking his mails. When I started working for a politician I didn't think I'd be doing the shopping or searching for the next excuse to soothe his wife when he went out with one of those chicks.

I hate him. I hate the way he treats women and uses them for his satisfaction. I hate how he looks at me freely without a hint of embarrassment when I catch him, but a big smirk on his face. He tried to hit on me several times. I felt so dirty. His filthy comments and grabby fingertips...

"Come on, Ysabeau. I would love to celebrate my latest success with you and some wine in that small Italian restaurant near by." When I told him about me being his secretary and him being my boss, it just led him on to grow even more aggressive in his efforts to woo me.

"In that case, maybe I should fire you. But then I would miss the daily eye candy."

Touching my back or arm or grabbing my hand every now and then. I know that this is sexual harassment at work, but I need that job.

That doesn't change the fact that I hate it. I can no longer hide my dislike. That's not how I imagined life would be like when I moved from Sacramento to Toronto. Raised by my stepmother, while my dad worked almost twenty for seven, I never received much of my parents attention.

Money isn't an issue. I have plenty. My dad must have felt kind of guilty or he was just too preoccupied with living his own dream that he shoved checks into my pockets when ever he had some time to spare. Which had been every Monday morning with coffee in one hand and the last bite of his toast in his mouth when I was still living at home.

 _"Have a good week, hon. Buy that nice dress you never stopped talking about."_

 _"That wasn't me Dad. Jill said she..."_

 _"Yes, great, give me a kiss and see you later."_

But later was a very elastic term.

I don't want his money. I never have. All those checks are cashed and put aside in a bank account after donating half of it to 'Children of hope' an organization that helps orphans to ease their suffering. I earn my own dollars and that's how I want it to be. Everything I have, everything I own, I bought from hard earned cash.

He wasn't much of a talker. My dad. Still isn't. We talk over the phone once every four to six weeks. But sometimes he forgets that. When I first moved out he wanted us to stay in touch and that I had to tell him about my well being every Monday. But as the years went by, his calls faded. The checks still come monthly though. He has never once forgotten them. Easier to write down some numbers and letters than to speak words or listen to them.

"Time is money and money doesn't lay on the street, sweetheart."

I am used to it by now. He wasn't there for me growing up and I am not surprised that he hasn't changed that much after I moved out. All my life I was by myself. My mother left me and dad when I was a baby, so I don't remember anything about her. She just abandoned us.

My dad did the best he could. He himself was very young when I was born, only twenty. I don't have grandparents. At least that's what I was told.

"No, Ysa, no! It's just you and me. There is no one else."

When I first went to Kindergarten some kids got picked up by their granny or aunt or other relatives. It was hard for me to understand. My family had been him an me. He worked hard. Double shifts and three different jobs. I never saw much of him. I stayed in a day care center after Kindergarten. Always the last one to get home. I missed him most of the time, but I understood, somehow at least.

When my dad had found that woman and fell in love with her, I didn't understand. He already had me in his life. There was no room for another girl. I hated her. More so that little boy they named Björn. He was born three years after she moved in with us. I was seven. I hated him. His name was stupid, I thought, and his small hands sticky. And he cried a lot. I had to share my tiny room and some of my toys with him.

"Jill! Stupid Björn broke Harvey! All his bowels splashed out on the floor!"

Harvey was my plushy. A frog. He was a gift my dad gave me for my sixth birthday. It was special to me, because it had been the first and only birthday we spent together from breakfast 'til bedtime story. It was the best day of my life.

"Don't call your baby brother stupid and those are not its bowels, it's just fiberfill. This frog was old and gross anyways, we'll just buy you a new one."

I felt so many emotions that day. Most of all anger.

"I don't want a damn new one! And he is not my brother."

That statement had earned me a week of room arrest, which was the worst that could have happened because I still shared my space with the tiny rat. We didn't get along well. I broke up contact first thing when I finally moved out.

I was jealous. Jealous of the way my father's eyes sparkled when he looked at Björn. As if that boy was all he had dreamed of. Jealous of the attention he received. The smiles directed at him after his first steps, his first word, his first _anything_. I felt forgotten. I tried so hard. Best in my class in middle school, best in my spelling competitions, best grades in most of my courses. But never enough. Never have I ever seen that look of pride on my father's face again since the beast was born. I felt replaced.

At some point my dad's career worked out pretty well. He climbed his way up the ladder of a telecommunications company. One of his bosses, an old guy without children, had found the son he never had in my father and saw his potential. He became a partner and is now one of the leading roles.

He had never been home much, but since then I think he just came back home to get some sleep.

"Why doesn't he love me anymore? What did I do?"

I cried my heart out at Lisa's, she was in my biology class. We sat on her bed in her room and I cried so hard until my eyes dried out. I was fourteen. Lisa gave me my first kiss and I didn't feel that alone anymore.

I see people stream inside the bus and curse quietly. My steps getting faster and unsteadier. Damn these shoes. Fortunately I bought an all-day-ticket this morning at the small kiosk on the corner of the street I live in. Normally I walk to work as the office lays within arms reach. Twenty something minutes of the day to gather my thoughts. Today I felt like riding the bus though. Another sleepless night absorbed the most of my energy and left me tired and it was hard to concentrate on anything.

I hold on tight to my suitcase. Good thing I decided to leave that coffee-to-go shop out, otherwise my run off would have been interesting to those watching me, although I am craving some caffeine right now.

I can hear the beeping, signaling that the doors will close sometime soon. Without thinking my hand head-reaches between the shutting wings. For about a second I thought I would get stuck and the bus would drag me behind but they open up again and out of breath, I step inside.

A cracking sounds along when I place my foot on the floor of the bus. Looking down I see the pieces of broken sunglasses. I could imagine how the person must have felt afterwards and yet again I wish for my own pair.

My eyes are flying around the front of the bus, watching a group of older women talking furiously about the youth nowadays, hearing the kids in the back laughing loudly. I smile to myself. Wondering, if I turn into one of those women when I would have grown old, bemoaning disrespect and the loss of strict upbringing.

Remembering my teenage time. I loved to provoke. With my body, with my sexuality, with everything I had and was. I wasn't shy, nor am I now. Being kissed and touched and adored by others. Me in a club alone wouldn't stay like this for long. A lot of potential lovers tried to hit on me. There isn't much I have to do. Just sit and wait. I am used of getting compliments and most of the drinks are for free, offered by men and women in equal measure.

My longing for skin on skin overlays the preference of gender from time to time. I don't like labels anyways.

It's all about the need for release. The need for anything that makes me feel something. Something more than this emptiness. More than those dreams of finding that someone who could look through all my show and see the real me.

Countless nights of giving and receiving pleasure and countless nights in which I felt like crap afterwards. My soap soaked hands scratching over my already pink rubbed skin. Feeling even emptier than before.

Somehow I have the feeling that someone is watching me. Groaning on the inside and rolling my eyes I turn my head left side preparing the right words and body language to give that person their well deserved lecture. I'm not in the mood nor in the right place and outfit for anything like that. But what I see I'm not prepared for at all.

Right behind a glass front, there she is. A beautiful blonde woman is staring at my upper arm. Light brown orbs dancing along my shoulder to the place I scored the most with but stopped a bit higher. She must be glancing at my throat or collarbone. I'm not quite sure about the exact location and I couldn't care less.

I am used to people watching me, staring at me, but none of them make my skin burn. The inward smile squeezes its way past my mouth on my lips and offer a welcoming gesture onto a slightly reddened face. I feel even warmer than before.

She hasn't met my gaze just yet. My own eyes wander along her shimmering tresses and soft expression. The blonde shut her lids close, breathing in deeply. I can switch out of my state of observing fast enough to catch her eyes with my own.

'I've got you there, gorgeous!'

I think I radiate like a nuclear outburst right into her face. My cheeks almost hurt from all the smiling. But I can't help it. My shitty day just spiked up form zero to hyper and I loose my track of thoughts for a second.

Why am I standing here? In this bus? Where have you been hiding all my life?

And I keep standing in the middle of the entrance, holding her all-pervasive gaze. It feels as if she is looking right into me, reading my inner commotion like an open book. A shiver runs across my back up to my hair when I see her lips mouthing something I can't make out. But suddenly I crave those lips to move again. Imagining what her voice might sound like.

When she looks away, shaking her head, a slight sadness overcomes me. The beeping of the doors filling the already noisy surroundings I almost forgot are still there. And here I thought I was a good multitasker. Maybe not that good.

The wheels get into moving. Making me jump with the sudden motion and almost losing the ground under my feet. I grab the steal handle near by.

Noticing the empty seat is next to the only person I could think of sitting next to right now. I pull myself together with all there is left of my courage and step up, stopping in front of her.

That has never happened to me before. Feeling insecure in front of somebody I wanted, somebody I felt attracted to. And I felt an ineffable pull towards this woman I have only seen the upper half of. But as much as I can tell, I have never met anyone like her.

"Hi, is this seat taken?"

'Please say no. Please say I can sit down. Please say- something. Anything.'

She won't even look at me. Seemingly shy. A small wave of her hand and a simple nod is all I get. But I take what she offers at that point. Desperate for anything. Clutching at every straw. So I sit down. Careful to leave enough space for her, or for me. I don't know.

I steal a glance at her hands. She kills her book with her tight grip and I am relieved that I am not the only one feeling all catapulted back in time. Right now I'm not twenty nine but sixteen all over again, sitting next to Amelie. The most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on when I was younger and I wanted to hold hands with so badly while Mister Hacky scribbled some stupid math formulas at the whiteboard.

Her fingers fiddling at the steal spiral of her notepad. I wonder what she does for a living. I wonder where she is heading to. I wonder why she wouldn't just start talking to me because I'm obviously not able to find my voice.

'I don't even care what you say, just- talk to me.'

I barely recognize myself. All speechless and I can't place what is happening inside my stomach. It takes all of my willpower to keep my leg from bumping up and down. I am nervous. Sweaty hands, pounding heart... Normally I feel self-assured and it doesn't take long for me to get to the 'My place or your place'-point.

I can't see her face. Her hair blocks the view. I have the sudden urge to lace my fingers through those strands falling freely across her shoulders. I want to brush away the blonde blanket and reveal that luscious rose skin of her lips. To watch her cheekbones change color again. Like before, when I caught her staring.

My finger twitches. So I grab my suitcase, pressing my nails into the leather. Looking back down to the small gap between her jeans clad thigh and my suit pants. A tiny space that separates our bodies. It wouldn't take much, to reach out and touch her bare forearm, resting on her upper leg. To cares that soft skin with an almost ghost like fingertip hovering above the small hairs, tickling along until our two hands would join to one.

'Talk to me!'

I can hear her. I hear her every breath. I hear her heart running thousand miles an hour, or is that mine?

I can't think clearly. Haven't since I stepped inside what I thought would be an unspectacular and fast ride to my destination. But the second I focused all my senses on the woman next to me I wished for more. More time, more words, more courage, more of all of those things I usually don't have to grope about in the dark void I call my brain.

A next sharp intake of that overly consumed air and I could swear she prepared herself to speak up, finally. I look at the glass in front of us. I see her reflection. See that face I longed to see for minutes on end now. But her eyes, shut close again.

'Boy, what is it about your eyes that I can't think straight anymore?'

I stare freely now. I don't care if she registered my gaze on her or not. The only thing I am waiting for is to hear her voice. How could I miss something I haven't had the chance of getting to know just yet?

Her eyes fly open. She is looking at me. Not directly, though. But at parts of my face. I follow her brown orbs. A journey, its course unknown. But hope never dies. So I wait patiently. I've never been patient. I couldn't stand the feelings that come with wanting something so badly but not being allowed to get it.

'Look at me. Just-please, look up.'

My world of silent prayers and overwhelming desires collides with reality when she lays her eyes upon mine eventually. God those eyes. Fixed on the mirror like glass I stare. Her mouth agape. Something in the way she looks at me enthralls me. Tells me that I have to get to know her. That there is now way possible, that I would let her get away ever again.

She blinks. Rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

'No- no, no. Don't. Just keep your eyes on me.'

A panic like murmur spreads inside my guts. I breathe in sharply. Capturing the warm air in my lungs. Yet again, I have to wait. Finally she drops her gaze back on my face and her mouth moves as if she was forming words.

"Next stop..."

That's not the voice I imagined would come out of this delicate throat. It is deep, a bit husky even, a male one and I couldn't get the whole sentence. Shocked of the unexpected sound.

"What?" is all I manage to bring out. Proud that the vibration of my vocal cords created more than a growl.

"I said, this is my station. I have to get out please."

Her words are like music to my ears, but the meaning leaves me disappointed. In the background that male voice repeatedly tells the passengers that the bus will come to a halt within the next seconds.

'That can't be...'

"Uhm- s-sure."

I stand up to let her pass. She hesitates for a second. Facing me, her notepad and book pressed against her chest tightly with her left hand, holding the steal bar with her right. Searching my eyes, clearly searching for words.

'Don't go.'

A silent plea I try to throw out against her fleeing position, but can't be transported in time.

The doors pop open and before I can reach out or force my tongue to verbalize my thoughts again, she is gone. Leaving me here, wondering what the heck just happened.

 **Okay, that was part two. One is yet to come. What do you think?**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Okay, this is the third chapter. Some of you asked for me to continue this as a multichapter and I was thinking about it. Hard and long. Somehow this story makes my insides mumble and it seems as if I can't stop my fingers from writing down those words I hear my mind saying.**_

 _ **So, I decided to**_ _ _ **maybe**__ _ **do more than three chapters, but please be patient because I don't want to start yet another story without finishing at least one of my others. I marked this 'complete', but when the time feels right, I'm going to scribble down some more of this.**_

 _ **Thank you very much for sending me your thoughts and feelings, wow! Really, so damn awesome. It's such a great thing for me to hear, that you feel and see the same things when reading like I do while writing them. Maybe that means something like I'm doing it right somehow.**_

 _ **And I listened to 'Mad World by REM' because one of you mentioned that song being in their head while reading the last parts. Great song and it created just the right mood and sadness I needed to come up with this.**_

 _ **So I really hope I didn't fuck that up. It just felt so right typing those words.**_

 _ **A special THANK YOU SO MUCH to EmCelle. You are unbelievably wonderful! Don't you ever change!**_

 _ **Okay, enough now.**_

 _ **Lauren's POV**_

They say, you always meet twice. Maybe that is true. Maybe not. But if it is, maybe next time could be too late.

Funny how life turns out sometimes.

One moment you find yourself head up high in the fluffy clouds bathing in their warmth, wrapped up in cotton wool and one heartbeat later you are back down on Mother Earth. Standing with both your feet on the hard ground, feeling the weight of your body ten times heavier on your shoulders when reality suits itself on your back waving its shabby, grabby hands in the air, hollering for you to face the ugly truth of the moment.

I had to get out. I didn't know what else to do. I was overwhelmed. I chickened out. I- I did what I always do. Run.

Her eyes on me, her body mere inches away, her perfume inhaled with my every breath.

I freaked out. It was too much to stand. She made me look at her in a way I shouldn't look at anyone I barely know or wasn't even able to say a simple 'Hi' to. She leaves my mind swirling around and my body aching to be touched.

It isn't normal. I don't feel normal.

Finally, when I have found my voice, the only words my lips pushed out didn't compare to those in my head.

I wanted to say, 'Hi, I'm Lauren.' So badly. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted so much that second that it was just too hard to sort out and formulate.

I am used to that start-speaking-without-thinking stuff. One possible cause of why I don't do conversations with strangers often, let alone talk to them in the first place. Most of the times I start rumbling my mind out and I don't stop until my counterpart literally runs off.

Normally I ride the bus up to terminus. The park is just a short walk down the main road. Now it'll take about twice the time. But that's not why I feel the tight knot in my throat and the heavy weight on my chest.

I step outside the vehicle and almost race to the next corner. My breath comes out in small puffs and I lean against the wall of a small bakery.

Whatever that was, I wanted it back the second I heard the door closing behind me. How could seven minutes change someone's sight of things in their life? Seven minutes. That's how long the bus needs from one station to the next.

My body is swamped with all kinds of feelings as my brain tries desperately to sort and catalog these emotions. The logical part inside of me screams for the hubbub to calm down, but fails and instead an even greater brouhaha inflames.

I clasp my book and notepad free hand to my bosom. Its pounding feels like sharp needles against my skin. Holding my blouse in my still sweaty fist. Forcing myself to stop the freak out, I lean forward. My eyes shut tightly. Pictures like movies flying wildly in front of me.

Flashes of her.

Surrounded by images of her cheekbones, her lips, her silk blouse, her hands. How could a stranger pull all of those strings inside of me? I have seen dozens of beautiful women in my life. Women I could have imagined to have some kind of connection with. A more physical one. But this one? This stranger? She has a hold on me and I can't do anything about it right now.

When I see her eyes staring back at me in my mind's eye, I sigh.

"Fuck!"

"What was that?"

I shoot my head up. A short grown old lady passing me by with an even older shock-headed golden retriever on a Zip Lead dawdling behind.

"Nothing, s- sorry."

She shakes her head and mumbles something about manners and parenting. I let it go. My head still overflowing with emotions and doing a hard job to locate all those definitions buried somewhere deep inside this massive chaos.

I roll my eyes up to the midday sky. Blue and white smiling back at me. Birds sitting on a branch of a chestnut tree on the other side of the street, singing the song of summer and I force a smile. This day has started really well, just to slap its smelly feet right into my face.

I start walking again. Shaking my head, I laugh sadly. What-ifs filling my mind.

What if I had found the courage to introduce myself?

What if she had returned my greeting and what if she had told me her name, too?

What if I hadn't run away?

What if... what if... what if.

What-ifs suck, because I know they won't leave me alone for the rest of the day and maybe the night, too. I overthink, reanalyze and tear all those possibilities apart to get to the same answer I have known from the start.

What if, but you didn't and she hadn't. Fact!

I am a sucker for facts. Clear, straightforward, outright.

"I hate it, Lauren. Sometimes I can't stand you. Why can't you just- just shut up!"

The first weeks my sister and I fought like cat and dog. I wanted a schedule, she didn't. I wanted the science channel, she didn't. I wanted privacy, she invited all her friends. Friends, I neither knew nor intended to get to know. Like I said, I'm more of a loner, a maverick.

Yes, being all rational and a reasoner brings all those pretty little fun games with it.

'Great,' I whisper under my breath, I have a hard time to catch.

I can fill weeks in doing nothing but staying inside my head coming out with only one result and in ninety nine percent of the cases I've known the answer from the first moment I fell into my brainy nerd herd of thoughts. The other one percent I couldn't remember what answers I've been chasing after.

Slowly I push myself off of the wall. 'The show must go on, Lauren.' It says so in the movies my sister used to watch when she had won the fight for the remote.

I cross the street to walk underneath some oak trees. As a kid I watched my brother climb the stamps all the way up to the crown. My heart pumped wildly with every foot step slipping and hand grasping at nothing.

I remember one day, when his guardian angle must have forgotten to watch over him when he crashed down on the with autumn leaf covered ground, right on his back. He couldn't breathe. His eyes filled with unshed tears and fear showed all over his face.

I remember hovering over him. Soothing words rushing out way too fast to calm neither him nor myself down. The color of his skin changed into something purple. Something terrifying. Something deadly.

And I remember how scared I had been to loose him that day.

I am his big sister. I was supposed to look out for him, to make sure he was safe and sound.

We were holding hands and his eyes shuttered closed. I screamed for him to stop fooling around, to open his eyes, to start breathing again. Seconds had grown into minutes and the tension had gotten beyond endurance.

 _"Please, Tom. Open your eyes. God, no. Please... please."_

I cradled his small body in my arms, crying. I couldn't loose him. We had only just met. He was five and I not older than nine. My love for him was sheer endless and beyond anything I had experienced before. He made me feel special. When he looked at me with those shiny, warm eyes. As if I was some kind of superhero. Fighting against those monsters in his closet and under his bed. Telling bedtime stories of worlds we both built up in our heads until our eyes grew too heavy to keep them open for any longer.

To him, I was _the one,_ not someone.

I remember me begging form him to wake up again. Holding him closer to my chest. Wanting my heart to beat stronger for him and my lungs to fill up with enough needed air for the both of us to breathe.

I remember the moment when his tiny form stirred in my tight embrace and I remember him saying my name with his weak voice. I felt even more protective over him after that day.

Shaking my head yet again.

Where do all those sad memories come from?

When I stepped outside of my apartment door and on the much-used street I was feeling fine, great actually. For the first time after a long time I could breathe in deeply. The night before I had promised myself to work harder on my insecurities and my anxieties. I wanted to be better. I needed that for myself.

I'm on my own, but I'm okay with being just me. The only thing I can think about is my scholastic. To finish Uni and get my life into the direction I longed for for so long and worked so hard for.

Yesterday night, right before I closed my eyes, I promised that to myself. I promised to start living the life that I'd choose.

And now? After that short bus ride? All my well organized thoughts and emotions and plans went out the window when I laid my eyes on that beautiful stranger. And all of a sudden I'm not that sure about the choices I have made for my life. As if there should be more than what I have formed and painted in my head.

As I walk my eyes fall upon a couple sitting on a bench framed by two trees. He's smiling and she's sitting on his lap laughing and I just try to hurry past. Watching the two of them exchanging loving gazes and light touches just triggers the darker memories I tried to hold back for today.

 _'You've been there, Lauren. And where did that lead you to?'_

All of my relationships have been awkward. It just didn't feel the way I thought it should, or better said I was told it should feel like.

John, my first boyfriend when I was sixteen, tried too hard and constricted me. Wanting more of what I wasn't ready to give to him thus far. At some point I couldn't breathe anymore.

 _"Come on Lauren, everybody does. Just relax."_

When his hands started roaming under my shirt, I ran away and never looked back.

When Sarah happened, I was eighteen. Somehow I knew that I was different. When all the girls in my classes giggled and whispered while watching the boys playing basketball, I was sitting at the sideline but my eyes were on the cheerleaders not the players.

We dated in secrecy. No one ever found out and no one would. She broke up with me. Telling me I wasn't capable of loving and too afraid to explore my sexuality further.

 _"I don't want a girlfriend, who is too scared to even hold my hand in public."_

I agreed. What else was there I could have said or done to budge her for giving me the time I needed to figure myself out? My family wasn't aware of my inner tumult. I was careful to hold my emotions in check. So I waited until nighttime to cry myself to sleep.

I skipped classes, twice. My sister wasn't as excited as I thought, when she was told, that her baby sister would join her grade.

 _"What does that make me, Lauren? Stupid or something?"_

But we found our rhythm and got closer. She has been for me what I think I have been for my brother. The one to hold the world together. Leaving home was a huge step for the both of us.

I met Maria at the library one day, not long after she started dating Naresh.

She was every color of the rainbow. She was bright yellow, and warm brown. She laughed refreshing blue and her eyes observed hopeful green. She was beautiful in every way possible. In character, in body, mind and soul.

We started seeing each other more regularly. The fact that she was interested in me, had been a surprise. But I was too scared to think about that further. Afraid she would leave and that I would be alone again. We just fitted so well. She was clever and needy for the answers life brought with it, same like I'd been.

My sister never noticed anything, as she had been too preoccupied with her own happiness.

Four years ago, I talked with my brother on the phone. He has traveled through Iraq, at the rim of life and death. I was scared again. One of those dozens of emotions I had known and could easily figure out.

Fear still occupies a huge part in my life.

I was scared of never seeing him again that night. The connection was really bad and it felt as if he was even further away than he already had been. I was scared and I knew, he knew.

The light conversations I was used to have with him turned into something more vulnerable and at some point I told him. I told him about Maria and how happy she made me feel. I told him, that I wanted him to meet her. That he would love her sense of humor and her way of seeing the world.

I could hear him smile through his breaths. Tom always supported me. When he had to cut me short because he had to leave I almost cried. Before he hung up he said how much he loved me.

 _"You deserve someone who makes you happy. Someone to take care of you when I can't be around. I am so glad you found that someone, Lauren. I don't care if that person prefers a tuxedo or a cocktail dress."_

I don't know when we switched positions. When he has become _the one_ for me. I only know that it feels good to have someone to watch your back even if they are a thousand miles away. Better a thousand miles than no one at all.

Tom and Maria never had the chance to meet. A few months after I came out to my brother I received an email, telling me she wouldn't be around anymore.

I have never seen her again. She left without much of a word. Just that email I read over and over again at night, searching for any hint of what went wrong, of what I did, of _why_ she wasn't around anymore. But the two sentence staring back at me wouldn't say much more than an 'I'm sorry' and 'I don't want to see you any longer'.

I broke up with love after that. It just isn't for me, I think.

Walking faster I feel the light summer breeze tangle my her. The concrete underneath my feet change into a pebble path. The park isn't far. I can see the heavy steel gate of its entrance. Rays of sunshine reflecting at the rounded edges. I feel my mood shift. Feeling lighter. But the truth is, I don't want to feel. It makes me wobbly around my knees and wraps my chest in a tightness I have difficulties to breathe with.

Maybe that came out wrong. I don't want to not feel. Not like being numb, it's just- I want to feel less overwhelmed whenever my emotions think about coming out to play. I want to be more in control of my inner grown of nerves.

The head-being that I am, I started analyzing the relationship with Maria after her terrible way of leaving me. I wasn't even sure afterwards whether it had been a relationship at all. We were together most of our spare time and we shared our thoughts and our fears and it felt like it was something, but in retrospect, maybe we just looked for someone to fill in the blank spots in our lifes.

When we kissed it was nice and soft and I know we cared for each other. The way she touched me, the way she looked at me, I know we did. When our bodies moved against one another, when I felt her filling me up with her breath, her warmth, her comfort, I know we were good together.

But then I watched my sister and her husband and I just knew, that it wasn't the same. That it wasn't this thing called love or what people depict as love. Her eyes weren't shining as bright as Naresh's when he observed my sister doing daily things, like cooking or cleaning. Or the way how my sister held him close, when they were waiting for the popcorn to get ready in the microwave.

Tom called me that day I reread her email about the hundredth time and I couldn't lie to him. Other than that he knew me all too well. He still does. He could sense my discomfort before I knew that I was even struggling.

 _"What happened Lauren?"_

So I told him. About Maria and the email and what that made out of me and about my ineptitude to keep people in my life. I heard his shallow breathing. I heard his anger boiling in his short responded answers, these hm's and okay's. But he was patient. When I broke down and cried he spoke up in that voice. The one telling me that he would always be there and that everything would turn out right as long as we were together.

 _"She doesn't know what she is missing and if she hasn't found out by now, she doesn't deserve you."_

With him I can be me. With him I don't have to hide. With him I can be free. It makes it even harder for me to not be around him.

Looking back at all those people in my life, I'm unsure whether I'm even able to love. I know I love my family but that's different.

Maybe Sarah was right. Maybe I'm in no position to be in a relationship. Maybe that's way I stick into science. There is nothing to feel. It's all about solving problems with analytics and calculations.

I'm good with numbers and scales.

My book lays heavy in my hand. I wonder why I decided to take that one with me as I know everything written in it inside out. My feet stop walking when a cat crosses my way. It is black with a white spot on the center of it's head. Meowing, it strolls along the path, tail up high in the air.

Cats are remarkable animals. As a kid I was fascinated by their gracefulness. Everything seemed so flawless and easy. I wondered what it must be like. Life living from a cat's perspective. All the hiding and sneaking.

I sigh again. _'Gosh, you're pathetic_.'

When I listen to myself, I would think of me as a person in need for a therapist. All these sad memories and the tension and struggle. Yes, I've been through a lot and maybe a shrink wouldn't hurt, but actually, I think my life is okay the way it is. There is still some space for something more and better to come but all in all, it could have been worse.

That is, before my inner meltdown. Before I looked in those eyes. Before I wanted my future to be different. Before her!

I straighten up and holding my head up higher. Body language is important. So I walk on. Passing the entrance of the park I wanted to get to since I walked out the front door.

People. People everywhere.

On the green grass, sitting, talking, drinking, eating. I shake my head. The way to my secret place, the only thing on my mind. At least the only one I try to focus on now. Also those flashes never stop. The whole way I see her face. I see her.

I force my feet forward and through the crowded area. All the noises. The laughing, the yelling. I couldn't get away fast enough, so I speed up. Around the first then the second corner and finally I come to a halt at my oasis. The sounds have changed from loud and shrieking to everything nature and I begin to relax for the first time since the bus ride.

There are my bushes, my tree, my statue, my bank but something that doesn't fit in the picture of my human being free place on earth.

It is a woman, I can tell, but I only see her backside. The backside of her head to be exact. I freeze.

"Shit!"

That can't be right. Maybe I took the wrong path, but no, this- this is my spot.

For one second I consider whether I should leave or sit down regardless of the intruder. If I'm lucky the woman would go away.

I shrug. 'What gives, this day went in every wrong direction possible. So why not challenge destiny', and I walk up to her with my eyes on my feet. I stand right in front of her and look up.

I blink and because I think I must be dreaming I blink yet again. It is her. The beautiful stranger. She isn't aware I'm there, staring at her like I did in the bus. My God she is...

Then she looks up, meeting my eyes and I can tell she is as surprised as I am. Her face, God that face. Of all places, she is sitting in my special spot. Maybe that is a sign. Maybe it means nothing at all. But my mind races again and as much as I'm trying to play it cool, my body betrays me. I shiver. Goosebumps all over my skin. My eyes searching for answers in her features. Answers to questions I haven't even asked.

I don't know for how long I've been standing here. A small smile tucks at her lips and I can't help it and stare on those lips. Seconds pass. I can sense my face soften. And I feel again. Feel lighter, happier, warmer, more content and more complete than ever before.

 _'Okay, you were wondering about that meeting twice and about timing and maybe faith and all those things. Now here she is. So go for it.'_

"Hi, is- is this seat taken?"

And I look into her deep brown eyes when I say those words. Look into the deep ocean of emotions I decipher easily, because they are similar to my own. I could drown, ending up breathless and dying, but it would have been worth it.

She smiles. She smiles and shakes her head, mentioning me to sit down and I can't even describe the things my body, my soul goes through. It feels just like this summer breeze in my hair, the sun beams on my skin, the song of birds in my ear.

I sit down. Right next to her. I see the tight grip on the book in her hand and I have to smile wide. A smile I thought I wasn't able to get onto my lips anymore. She looks down when she follows my gaze to her fingers.

She chuckles softly and I join in. It seems as if all the tension we both felt before, is now steaming out with the light exhale of quiet laughter. I can see her shoulders fall a bit forward, her whole body relaxed in front of me.

I take a deep breath. 'Now or never,' I think, and try to remember the last time, that I wanted something so desperately like I want to talk to that gorgeous woman next to me. I end up with nothing, because I have never felt like this before. To prevent myself to fall knee deep in the sea of thoughts again I shake my head.

"I'm Lauren!", I burst out. A bit shocked about myself, but a bit proud, too.

Her head shoots up and her eyes reflect some kind of awe, as if she wanted to hear my voice as badly as I want to hear hers.

I am nervous. More than ever. I think I haven't been more nervous, not in the slightest, like I am now. My hand leaves my notepad, laying on my lap and I reach over to offer it for her to shake. Her chocolate brown orbs search my face and fly over my trembling hand back to settle on my eyes. If she only knew how out of character I'm acting right now.

A happy sigh leaves her lungs and hesitatingly her warm fingers brush along my palm, tickling my skin when our hands connected fully and as we sit there shaking hands, locking gazes on each other, I hear her saying:

"I'm Bo and it is so good to see you again."

We stay like this. Just holding hands, slightly shaking, exchanging glances, bathing in each others presence and all my thoughts, all my insecurities, my fears, my sorrows can wait. For now, I am right where I want to be.


End file.
